Contact State: The Plan to Fail has Failed (and it was not a success)
by Vainglory 2KW8O
Summary: In the movie, Contact State starring John Goodman, a terrorist cell fighting an extra-terrestrial occupation plants a bomb on the mayor in the hope that it will ignite enough discontent in the general population to cause a revolt. This literary masterpiece is an alternate reality scenario that's all about him and the aliens he is supposed to meet.


Contact State: The Plan to Fail has Failed (and it was not a success)

Mayor Ed Harris was so bored that he had to suppress the urge to drop his pants and spray his urine at random teenagers from the high school marching band running in circles around the girl dressed up in copper glitter face paint in the middle of Soldier Field.

Ostensibly, they were re-enacting the first few hours of the first contact event with the alien invasion fleet who came to be referred to as "the Legislators," so called because they took over the world and made themselves the ultimate authorities of Earth. But Ed found that it took quite a stretch of the imagination to interpret the re-enactment as such because it looked like an abstract representation of the alien fleet circling the Statue of Liberty. He had an eidetic memory and he was able to accurately recollect that was more like an artillery barrage that lasted for a few hours before Donald Trump, who was president at the time, contacted them by radio and invited them to the White House where they negotiated an unconditional surrender. Plus, the closest any bomb got to being dropped on Liberty Island was when Albany was vaporized. The aliens had presumed that, since Albany was the capital of New York State, that must have been more important than New York City.

When they finished, the mayor then made his way to the middle of the football field and grabbed the mic to announce that he would be talking to the aliens and bringing them out. The crowd cheered, he walked off to a nearby vomitorium, and a woman wearing a blue dress came out to sing a censored rendition of the Battle Hymn of the Republic that sanitized all of the Christian themes to conform to the aliens' policy of strict secularization. A completely hum-drum routine that Ed barely noticed because his mind had wandered off to his own fantasies of unlimited success and power the entire time.

As Ed Harris and his team of diplomats and translators walked off of the field and into the vomitorium where they would meet with the Legislators, however, he couldn't help but think that he deserved more in his life. He was the mayor and he lived in a high rise penthouse fully paid for with tax dollars but he felt that he should have been emperor of the universe. No, the ultimate emperor of the consummate multiverse. He deserved it, after all. His life was a long, tortuous road of hardship through a forest of autumnal darkness and wicked predators with glowing eyes beaming down from bald treetops when it should have been a pleasant sleigh ride through freshly-fallen virgin snow in a forest that only had spruce trees that were wrapped with strings upon strings of Christmas lights. No, he was not destined to be the mayor of Chicago, he was meant to be -

"Ayy, yo, jack 'em off real good, Mista Mayor!" a shifty and conspicuous African American security guard slapped Ed's back, triggering a post-traumatic flashback to when he was out camping with his dad and his drinking buddies. One of them, a big, black guy named Donovan, crept into his tent and raped him, repeatedly yelling out "YOU'RE AN INVALID! YOU'RE AN INVALID!" and claiming to have paid his dad a troll toll to get into his boy's hole.

"Don't touch me, you filthy peasant! Hey, hold on a second!" Ed Harris ripped off a translucent, gelatinous thing off of his back, "You just put an alien bomb on my back," Ed gave the bomb to another guard, "get rid of this bomb and put this terrorist asshole under arrest!"

"Hey, wait a minute, I think we got a misunderstanding on our hands! Oh, damn!" the terrorist shouted as he got dogpiled by cops.

Ed Harris and his friends walked through the door and walked down the corridor towards the Legislator convoy who were waiting on the other side, "Damn it, this suit cost me five figures and now it's ripped! I ought to be making a better first impression on behalf of the human race and stuff."

"It's okay, I don't think they'll mind that much." said his translator, who was walking beside him.

The aliens on the other end of the hall were freaky, vague, eldritch amalgamations of katydids and those executive pinscreen toys. Ed Harris wasn't sure how to articulate what they looked like.

"Alright," she said, "I'll translate everything they say and it's critical that we let them communicate first."

"Greetings, Earthlings!" the Legislator took a jovial stride to Ed with his arms outstretched.

"Oh, so you guys can speak English." said Ed, hugging the alien. The grapheme quills on the creature were not at all as rough or abrasive as he expected. They felt fluffy like the fur of a white Persian cat.

"Yes," the monster said, "we have taken great pains in learning your language; it was very inconvenient for us."

As per the customary greeting of the Legistlators' culture, Ed Harris turned around, dropped his pants, and allowed the alien to give him the strictly ceremonial formal greeting of anal penetration with complementary reacharound. When Ed Harris had his orgasm, the worst part of the formal greeting came next. The aliens did not care that human men had refractory periods so he had to grit his teeth and thrust his raw and tender semi-flacid wiener into this alien's coarse, rocky, and jagged butthole. It felt like he was sticking his dick in a loaf of bismuth sculpted into the shape of banana bread and it clenched so tightly that he thought that it would get sheared off like a hot dog in a guillotine. Masturbating the creature hardly felt any better because it was twice as bad as grinding a cheese grater against his palms. The creature let out a primal orgasmic scream and a motor oil-like substance sprayed out of every one of its quills, staining Ed's custom-tailored suit, while a mercurial liquid metal squirted out of its penis. Ed Harris pulled his pants back up and they both followed up with a secret handshake that consisted of a high five, down low, and a sumo slam.

"I am Emperor Zorak!" the Alien leader shouted, "and these are my children, Pikachu and Jumanji!"

"Sup," said Pikachu, "I'm Princess Pikachu."

"Hey, what's up, bro. Name's Prime Minista Jumanji," said the Emperor's other child, "it's nice to meetcha."

"And, my name is Ed Harris, I'm the mayor of Chicago, I think," he offered to shake Zorak's hand but then realized that he already greeted when his genitals started to feel like he just tore them off of a block of ice that got stuck on there like Flick's tongue in A Christmas Story. "Uh… So, anyway, how about we go out onto the football field so everybody and get a good look at what you look like. A lot of folks out there have never even seen an alien in their lives."

"Capital idea, let's go, children!" said Emperor Zorak.

As, everyone walked up the corridor to the football field: Zorak's impetuous children couldn't help themselves but to mouth off.

"Guh! This sucks," said Princess Pikachu, "I don't get why we're doing this shit again."

"Yeah," said Prime Minister Jumanji, "Everybody knows we only do these things to basically tell everybody that this planet sucks and doesn't have anything that anybody wants or cares about."

"Silence, children!" Zorak said in an exasperatedly stern tone, "it's a formality that every emperor and his immediate successors must undertake to ensure the fidelity of his subjects. When I'm gone, you will have to do these things too so get used to it and stop whining."

They walked out of the vomitorium to the deafening noise of hysterical screaming as people panicked upon gazing at the aliens. Zorak, Ed Harris, and their companions sprinted out to the middle of the field to grab the mic.

Since Mayor Harris was already covered in oil splotches, he did a Pete Townsend knee slide and snatched the mic with a Prince maneuver and calmly said into the mic, "Okay, everybody! Chill!"

Everyone in the stadium, excluding three people who already died (two by tumbling down some flights of stairs and one who had a psychotic episode and tried to crowdsurf his way out of the stadium but broke his ribs by bodyslamming the bleachers four rows down), promptly shut up, stood still, and sheepishly filed back into their seats.

"I'd like to introduce a very good buddy of mine. He's the leader of the Planet Melmac, home world of the Legislators. Let's give a round of applause for Emperor Zorak!"

Everybody clapped with timid politeness. Zorak thrusted his pelvis at the mayor and he reciprocated the gesture and gave him the mic.

Zorak cleared his throat, "How ya'll doin' tonight?"

"Good!" the crowd shouted unanimously.

"Ah, that's great, I'm doing fantastic, myself. But listen, I got to apologize on behalf of my people for not telling you what our real names are. You see, our species is actually called 'the Tettigoniidae' but, for legal purposes, we don't consider it appropriate to reveal our names except for on very special occasions like this one."

Zorak cleared his throat and continued his speech with a non-sequitur.

"These past nine years have surely been a turbulent, and perhaps even a traumatic time for you. But, from the outset, we have always intended our relationship with each other to be the complete opposite of a one-sided colonial occupation. Therefore, it saddens me to say that, after a longitudinal geological survey and a careful comprehensive financial analysis of your planet, we have determined that continuing our venture here would bring no economic value to our home planet, Melmac's, economy," Zorak held up his hands in a submissive gesture, "Now, don't take offense, there's nothing with your planet, it quite nice, actually. It's just that you hardly have any minerals worth gathering. I mean, cobalt is nice and all, but we already have sixteen outposts that produce a lot more of it for a much bigger profit. Plus, it'd be terrible as a beach resort because it's such a dreary-looking place. I mean, I'm sorry, but this constant blue sky that you have in the daytime is just too depressing to look at and this gravity, ***guh***!" Zorak put his finger in his mouth to express his disgust, "72% of our diet consists of gravity and yours is so poisonous that we've had to import it from better planets. I'm sorry, but we can't take it anymore; we're withdrawing all of our personnel by June 15 of 2026 or whatever year this is, I don't know," the audience erupted in a chorus of howling. Being unaccustomed to the behavior of human crowds, Emperor Zorak wasn't sure whether this howling was one of approval or disapproval, "before we leave, however, our scientists have engineered a revolutionary new appliance for every household on Earth as a gesture of our good will. It's a soft-serve ice cream dispenser that comes outfitted with an aquarium of perpetually regenerating colony of organic life forms that are used to create a vanilla-flavored, pro-biotic, vitamin-enhanced, protein-rich frozen yogurt that can be exclusively subsisted on for all of your nutritional needs. Also, since it's too expensive to remove the mechanized sentries we have posted along your coasts, we have decided to auction them off as military surplus to any private citizen who is interested."

The audience at Soldier Field erupted in an orgiastic explosion of rejoicing. The elderly weeped openly, feeling a great sense of relief that lifted 20 years of accumulated jadedness from their hearts, the children and their parents' stretched their arms out and leapt into each others' embraces, and the young women threw their shirts off and let their breasts jiggle and bounce around all over the place.

Their worries of public opinion alleviated, Emperor Zorak and his family waved goodbye to the humans and turned to leave the stadium.

"Hey, Zorak," Ed called after him, "before you go: I want to make a bet with you."

"Okay, Ed, what did you have in mind?" said Zorak as he came back to talk to him.

Ed Harris produced a snub-nosed Colt Trooper and handed it over to Zorak.

"I wager 500 Nargaxulops that, when you shoot me, not only will I survive but the bullet will ricochet off of me and kill you instead."

"Sounds like an easy way to make some Nargaxulops. Okay, you're on," Zorak took aim at the space between Ed Harris' caterpillar eyebrows, "Here goes nothing!"

BANG! Zorak squeezed the trigger and Ed Harris fell dead on the ground. The bleachers resonated with tepid applause.

"Well, I don't know what that was supposed to prove; pay up! Hey wait a second," Zorak spotted a note popping out of Ed Harris' vest pocket and he snatched it up.

The note said this in big block letters:

BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS, I WILL HAVE QUANTUM IMMORTALITATED INTO ANOTHER UNIVERSE WHERE THE BULLET RICOCHET'D OFF OF ME AND KILLED YOU INSTEAD OF ME. BEING INVINCIBLE, I WILL HAVE TAKEN OVER YOUR WORLD AS WELL AS EVERY PLANET YOU EVER CONQUERED.

"Son of a bitch!" Zorak crumpled the note and tossed it onto the field in a fit of passionate frustration and went back to his home planet with his family.

The End

Moral of the Story: You should get a table at Eleven Madison Park and demand a bag of Laffy Taffy.


End file.
